Charles De Gaulle
by sara-cupcaked
Summary: Post-10X01. Ish.


Charles De Gaulle

If you watch them from a distance, you wouldn't have guessed from her smile that she, in her casual jeans and deep grey sweater, had been kidnapped by a meticulous killer and left to die in the middle of Nevada's vast desert less than two years ago.

You can't tell, from her bright smile and easy gaze, that she is the same woman who left Vegas in a cab with her perspective blinded by the neon lights. And you squint, because maybe her sun-drenched hair is actually darker than _hers_, and maybe that man by her side is not the one who traded in his old life for his risky new one in Costa Rica, but an art collector (paintings, sculptures?) of some sort.

When he slips his hand into hers, quickly, gently, you see the fast flash of gold on their fingers and you almost scoff because that cannot be _Grissom _and_ Sara! _with wedding bands on. Not that you don't want to see them married, but because…well, because it's them and you just can't fathom them being married. It's an inconceivable thought, like one whole and perfect day or true love or cutting in a straight line with a pair of scissors.

But when she speaks, you just know. It's not even English – she's saying something about the weather and how warm it is; something basic – in her almost-fluent French but you know it's Sara Sidle speaking because of that lilt of hers in her smoky voice.

"We are here," she says, wondrously, "in France."

Yes, it _is_ possible to have perfect days in Paris and a married pair with the names of Grissom and Sara.

"Yes," he says, with such a comforting finality that almost hurts to hear.

And you are most probably reading too much into that 'yes', but it does sound a lot like _yes, it took us years and years of angst but we're finally here_ or _yes, we did get married in Paris but no, it had nothing to do with the Eiffel Tower, and yes, we _finally_ did it. This. Marriage. _

And they walk a little more before settling on a worn park bench doodled with graffiti (in French!), unwrapping their lunches and trading secret smiles from time to time. They don't eat at overpriced, touristy cafes; no, they wander down cobblestone walkways with a French phrasebook between them (for just-in-cases) and buy their lunches from family bakeries. Tiny shops that sell a dizzying variety of breads and pastries, and one place (Sara's favourite) sells iced tea in clear glass jam jars with a yellow straw for takeaways.

"Thirty-six hours till ETA in Vegas," he says too casually, sipping his iced tea.

"I bet you took into account tail wind and all," she says with a glint in her eye, and he can't keep back a grin. "But yes, it'll be less than two days before I arrive back on American soil."

"I still can't seem to wrap my head around you going back as a CSI of all people."

"Me neither," she says quietly, "but it would be good to see how much has changed. Whether or not the change there is as drastic as the change we have here."

They both look at their rings simultaneously, simple bands of gold. It's still new enough to surprise him when he's reading the newspaper or pushing himself off the bed, and it still brings a smile to his lips.

You smile.

"You'll come back, right?"

"Yes," she says, and you, like Grissom, know without a doubt it's true.

A comfortable silence descends around them, and you take the moment to look around, absorbing everything. Paris, marriage, a return to Vegas…it's almost too much to take in.

Finally, she breaks the silence. "And I'll see you there."

Those words settle around you, warming you up more than the sun ever could. There is such a thing as true love, and whole and perfect days. Maybe someday you'll learn to cut perfectly with a pair of scissors, but two out of three '_inconceivables_' is more than you've ever asked for.

Sara Sidle and Gil Grissom, back in Vegas, together. Paris is gorgeous and all, with the romance just hanging in the air and the mysterious conversations in a foreign tongue, but it's not the same as them being back in Vegas. It might not be where they truly belong, but CSI Sidle is going back to where it all began, with (CSI) Grissom (her husband) not far behind her.

_I'll see you there._

--

**A/N:** I hope you didn't find that too weird; I was aiming for a post-ep piece but ended up with a pre-ep piece. In second person perspective, no less. And yes, I know it's a romanticized version of Paris but I can project, right? About that _and _Grissom's return. Thanks, once again, to my trusty beta Keegan. The title is the name of Paris' airport (and France's first president), in case you were wondering. Oh, and I still can't cut with a scissors in a straight line, but I'm not complaining.


End file.
